The Dirty Urchins

The last days of summer-- or, as I prefer to call them, the first days of Fall-- are upon us. The rain has slowed, the weather has cooled, and evenings outdoors are begging my attention. Alex and I spent last evening in Central Park, strolling and picnicing, observing the lovely weirdos who roam Manhattan's largest park during the Blue Hour. Ourselves included, I suppose.

Just before sundown we stumbled upon a band playing at the fountain (the fountain with the angel from Angels in America) and enjoyed what we heard immensely. They are called the Dirty Urchins (fantastic band name for a band who plays most of its shows for dollar tips in central park next to break dancers, sidewalk artists, and that crazy guy with the pink poodle and tutu around his neck) and they cracked me up.

We found ourselves smiling the 'Paul Rudd' smile, as we call it (watch Role Models if you haven't yet) to the folky lyrics of 'Don't Let the Bastards Get You Down', a lovely little tune about-- among other things-- lowering your standards.

They are fresh, they are real, they are enjoyable. And Dirty Urchins, if you're out there-- keep doing what you're doing. And I hope you got lots of beer last night with that tip money.